


Vaster Than Empires and More Slow

by qrtxc_lucian



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Eventual Fluff, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Gen, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Slow Build, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:36:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28955820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qrtxc_lucian/pseuds/qrtxc_lucian
Summary: “And here comes in the question whether it is better to be loved rather than feared or feared rather than loved. It might perhaps be answered that we should wish to be both; but since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved.”or: a story in which we watch Technoblade grow.Title from “The Wind’s Twelve Quarters”.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson, Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 81
Kudos: 262





	1. from which we begin

**Author's Note:**

> A baby takes his first breath as a distant man breathes his last.

\- newborn

Her baby is silent when he enters the world. The local doctor wipes him clean of vernix with large, wrinkled hands dwarfing the newborn’s frame. He is a small thing, not particularly healthy. Her village has always been poor, and her own body is sickly. Her baby is a miracle in and of itself.

She is handed her son to hold in shaking arms, and, looking down at his helpless form, she feels no maternal instincts towards him. He meets her gaze with a pair of red eyes, and they stare at each other in silence. This is not her child.

A few towns over, a scarred man’s chest is carved open upon an altar. Figures clothed in red reach greedy hands into his exposed lungs and heart. The corpse does not bleed, and they rejoice.

❖

\- five

There is a boy in the orphanage with pink hair. When she first arrived, she had toddled towards him in interest. He had been sitting barefoot in the patchy grass, hair tumbling down the back of an oversized shirt. His hair had been tangled when she touched it, little fingers caught in its grasp.

The boy had not reacted to her approach but turned his head to her then with empty eyes. She had been naive then, offering a gap-tooth smile as she withdrew her hand. The motion of it revealed an ear, slightly larger than her own with a pointed tip.

With a tilt of his head, he raised a steady hand and placed it atop her small head. It was heavy, and she squirmed in protest. In response he tightened his grip in the blonde curls, tilting her head up to study her even as she began to cry. His other hand had come up to trace along her features with a featherlight touch.

She had almost calmed when she felt a sting along her cheek, and she cried out in pain. The boy released her with bloody fingers, and she reached up to feel the cut he had left.

Weeks later she recalls one of the caretakers rushing over and scooping her up, cooing comforting words in her ears as she watched the pink-haired boy stare down at his bloodied hand blankly.

Her cheek had scarred, and she learned to stay away from the boy just as the other children did.

❖

\- seven

He must live in the woods, the townspeople speculated, for he emerged from the trees every day without fail to wander aimlessly. They had tried to speak to him at first, a skinny boy adorned in worn clothes. Perhaps the boy was mute, some said, or maybe he did not speak their tongue, but their attempts to reach out always resulted in a strange silence that left an uncomfortable feeling in their stomachs.

A kind, older couple had once gone out into the woods under clouds that promised a violent storm later on. They failed to find any sort of campsite where someone could live, and after some time the boy had come to them, standing at a distance in the cover of shadows. He had simply shaken his head at them when they reached their hands towards him before disappearing back into the forest.

The next morning, they awoke to a clumsily killed rabbit with blood matted fur on their doorstep. The boy did not show himself that day or the following, but it was the start of a pattern that continued for weeks. Bloodied animals greeted them when they opened the door, some of which were distributed to the town and cooked, others were much too mutilated to be good for anything. The animals, without fail, were missing a heart.

A traveler’s horse went missing one night only to be found in the morning, dead amid a small clearing of flowers. Its body was mauled completely, a horrifying display of violence for what they chalked up to a wild animal. And yet murmurs of a gaping hole in the creature’s chest spread from house to house.

A small search party went out the following night to comb through the woods for the beast. They stumbled upon a clearing where the strange boy was sat cross legged, a rabbit on his lap that he was petting with jerky movements. He looked up at them once with a tilted head before holding the struggling animal down by the neck and plunging his hand deep within and withdrawing with something in his clenched fist.

The men watched on, horrified, as the boy stood and held out the dead creature to them. One of the younger members turned away to lean against a tree as he heaved, others immobilized. It was the butcher who took slow steps forward to accept the offering from a child’s bloodied hands.

❖

The child resumed his wandering after that, making his way through the streets as the sun licked at the back of his neck. He stopped at shops to investigate, to pick up fruits or feel cloth, but never took anything or engaged with the sellers. After the story of how he slaughtered the rabbit had spread, the townspeople were less inclined towards him – pity for a lonely child only went so far when said child seemed to lack any sense of importance in life.

Parents herded curious children away from the boy, shop keepers tensed as he arrived. They whispered to each other as he passed, tales of what he did to animals out in the woods morphing as their imagination overtook reality. They accused the boy when farm animals went missing or things were stolen.

A meeting was finally called when a young girl disappeared in the middle of the night. Monsters, someone remarked, were a varied breed. The zombies and skeletons who mindlessly plagued their town when the sun went down were monsters beginning at the form they take. But it was the witches and pillagers that did the most damage. A small child was a clever deception, but a youthful face could not take away from eyes so cold.

Dissent escalated and the meeting was adjourned, but, under the moon’s watchful gaze, three men disappeared into the woods with swords newly sharpened, a sense of self-righteousness in their minds, and whiskey on their breath. This time when the boy offered the already dead bird with blank eyes, they lunged forward – six hands tearing at soft skin.

When the boy cried out in pain, it was the first sound they had ever heard him make. He writhed in their grasp, weak under the hold of grown men. Chest heaving, the boy turned his head and bit down hard on the wrist of an oppressing arm. Canines a bit too sharp to pass as human tore at the flesh, puncturing veins. The man reared back, dropping his sword to grasp at his wound as blood gushed from his body.

The sword was too heavy for a child, but the boy dragged it closer to him by the blade. His palm was sliced in his haste, but no blood was shed. A different man leaned over him, plunging a sword into the boy’s shoulder. He received no reaction and was promptly pushed onto his back as the boy kicked out his legs under him. He did not move for a moment, winded, and that was all the time the boy needed to shove the sword with all his might through the side of the prone man’s neck. He choked on blood as his eyes bulged, the boy atop him staring down at him with a snarl on bloodied lips.

Long ears twitching in response to footsteps, and the boy narrowly dodged the final man’s reaching hands. Stumbling to his feet, the boy took off running without looking back. The remaining man could do nothing but stare after him where he sat on the ground. To his left lay the lifeless body of a friend, to his right another. He rushed to the man leaning against the tree, noting the short breaths coming from him. He was pale and shaking, and the man’s attempts to speak to him were unable to reach the other as he bled out on the moss-covered ground.

❖

After the funeral the next day, the missing girl returned to the village with tales of a young boy doused in red leading her home by the hand.

❖

\- ten

Beneath the ground there is a poorly lit arena where sick men and women come to watch death safely behind high walls. They lose money on bets and laugh drunkenly with each other as the body count in the pit below increases. The announcer is jovial in his introductions of the victims, eliciting cheers as the gate rises and new fighters emerge.

There is a new challenger that the crowd favors, a pretty thing dolled up with a red cape and piercings on inhuman ears. He wears a mask made from a wild boar’s skull and carries a gleaming axe. Something in the back of their minds tells them that this is a child, that this is someone who the announcer parades around in flashy clothes to distract from the fact that what they’re cheering for is sickening.

They call him The Blade, a newcomer that had made his debut a few months back and proceeded to consistently sweep the competition. He never celebrated his wins even as the crowd’s roar of approval was deafening, just stood silently amidst the carnage until he was ushered back to where the other monsters were kept and put back into his cage. He should be grateful, the guards told each other, since they were feeding him and giving him purpose. The boy only watched them through the holes in his mask. He was still until they came for him once more.

The crowd cheered for blood, and, deep within the boy’s mind, the voices joined in.


	2. in the eyes of men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil has seen monsters made, but he's also seen them redeemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irregular update schedule.

\- twelve

Phil was often mistaken for a plain man; he did not wear flashy clothes or flaunt his achievements. When he passed through a new village, he pulled his hat down to cast a shadow over his face even as he offered shopkeepers friendly smiles. Phil possessed the sort of good that not many were able to retain after so many years. They called him a hero, stories of a mighty dragon’s defeat whispered in his wake, but Phil had goals beyond that.

Despite being well loved by the people he had dedicated his early years to saving from the oppressing force of the End, Phil was lonely. He was known for his actions, and, good as they were, they were not all he was. And so he wandered the world with a modest amount of belongings in hopes to find something for himself.

Phil’s quest had ended when he brought the head of a dragon before the king, and ever since he had found himself lacking purpose between the odd jobs of protecting villages when he could.

He had meant to pass by the village he found himself in, but he had not accounted for the sky opening up with crashing thunder that shook the ground. The village was small and not particularly well kept. Phil knew it from a passing remark over a drink with a fellow traveler who had advised him to just keep walking to the next town over.

The hotel room he booked himself was moderately well-kept if somewhat stuffy. Seeing the bright flash of lightning outside his small window, Phil could not complain.

Downstairs there was a modest bar where the villagers mingled together. There was an excitement in the air that buzzed against Phil’s skin as he settled into a chair. A group of people sat in the bark corner who spoke in lowered tones, eyes shifty. Phil made the mistake of meeting one of their mistrustful gazes, and the man turned to whisper urgently to the man beside him. Said individual looked up and appraised Phil before standing and making his way towards him.

He was taller than Phil with the nose of someone who had had it broken one too many times. Phil could tell that there was some muscle beneath the man’s coat, and he relaxed his posture to be as non-threatening as possible. Phil detested senseless violence.

“You new around here?” The man asked, his voice gravely.

Phil nodded, “Just passing through, checked in to wait out this weather.” They shared a commiserating smile.

“Charlie,” the man offered with an out-stretched hand.

Phil grasped it for a firm shake. “Phil.”

“There’s an event tonight,” Charlie began with a quick glance behind him where his friends sat watching. “Something of a show, you know. It’s a small village here, most of us go. You’re welcome to tag along with us.”

Phil considered this, covering his suspicion with a curious smile. “Oh? What sort of event? I could certainly do with some entertainment after trekking through all that mud.”

Charlie hesitated. “You any good at keeping secrets?”

“Want to find out, mate?” Phil challenged.

The man grinned, clapping him on the back. “I like the attitude. Here, come sit with us, and I’ll buy you a drink.”

Charlie’s friends were an odd group, and Phil could tell they were censoring himself for his sake. After a few rounds of drinks that Phil pretended to drink, their tongues loosened. They joked as any friend group would, but it was the occasional slurred comment that Phil latched onto.

“Vicious creature tore ‘em to bits las’ week,” one slurred.

A boisterous laugh, “you’re just mad ya’ didn’t bet on ‘im. We tol’ you he’s good.”

The conversation shifted then, and Phil added just enough to remain included. This village was quite obviously into some rather shady business, but Phil had always had a habit of falling prey to his curiosity.

❖

It was this weakness that had him following strangers down a darkened alley as wind whipped at their cheeks. Charlie heaved open a splintered door and held it still as the other followed in. Phil hesitated for only a moment before stepping through the threshold himself.

The air inside was warm against his skin, and he pulled off his jacket as he observed his surroundings. Rows of benches lined the back of the room, each set higher as to allow a better vantage point. There were round tables at the front that Charlie had made a beeline for, Phil following carefully as he dodged enthusiastic strangers making their way to their own seats.

Charlie pulled out a chair, “You can sit here, Phil, our new friend.”

Phil offered a quiet thanks that was drowned out by a sudden roar as a man appeared on the balcony to his right. It overlooked what Phil could now see was a large pit with gates on either side. This was not the first time Phil had seen a fighting ring.

In some cities they were rather common, and people blatantly advertised to the public to have them come watch as people duked it out for sport. They had never been quite to Phil’s taste despite having attended a few, but none so obviously illegal as this.

There were rules for fighting rings that the underground circuits disregarded. All participants were to be voluntary, the fight could not be lethal, and betting without a proper bookmaker could result in jail time.

The announcers voice crackled through the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special treat for you tonight.” He paused as the crowd murmured amongst themselves in excitement. “Tonight we are holding our seventh ever purge.” This announcement set everyone off.

“What is a purge?” Phil asked Charlie in a raised voice.

He turned to Phil with a crooked grin, glee in his eyes, “if a challenger has won a certain number of battles, a purge is held to either wipe them out or free them. The village likes fresh blood, too many wins get boring after a while. No one has ever survived a purge before, although I’m betting on the kid.”

Phil began to feel a little sick, he understood what Charlie was saying. He was going to witness an execution for sport. And, of Charlie was to be taken at his word, the one condemned was rather young. Phil’s hands curled into fists beneath the table as he took a deep breath.

“As always, we will have five stages of increasing difficulty. Our current record holder is three stages completed. Place your bets now if you think tonight’s champion can challenge that.” The announcer took a breath around crooked, yellow teeth. “Without further ado, may I present The Blade!”

The room was deafening as the right gate began to rise and the small frame of what was undeniably a child stepped through into the pit. The boy’s ears twitched, silver piercings dangling and sparkling in the light. Clasped around his neck was a crimson cape, but it was the bone mask that truly drew Phil’s eyes. He wondered for what purpose they had the boy hide his face.

Charlie turned to Phil to brag, “I was there the first night they dragged him in, wiry bastard. They threw him in with some mobs in the first fight up the night to get the crowd amped up with some bloodshed. The kid fought like you wouldn’t believe though, a proper little killer. He’s certainly made a name for himself.”

❖

There were bloody crescents on Phil’s palms from his clenched fists. He had no obligation, truly, to doing anything about the display he found himself in the audience of. Usually he would have no problem with simply leaving, but he could not bring himself to turn away from the child fighting for his life in front of him.

Below him, a young boy dodged yet another strike from a lumbering mountain of a man. The man’s face was set in a visage of grim determination, Phil recognized the look in his eyes – he was someone with no choice and nothing to lose. His movements were sloppy, but he was significantly stronger than his opponent.

The Blade had so far been on the defensive, Phil noted. The axe in his hand had not been raised to hurt, only to protect. There was a sense of frustration in the crowd, and, when the man in the pit stopped to take a few breaths, they began a chant.

“Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!”

The boy stood straight up from his battle crouch, head tilting to the side and ear flickering. His lips moved, but Phil could not make out the meaning. The Blade suddenly lunged forward, axe countering the startled man’s shaky sword block and legs kicking the man’s feet from beneath him. The audience cheered as the boy straddled the man’s chest, axe discarded to the side and slim hands locked around his neck.

The man bucked helplessly, but the boy’s grasp only tightened as he leaned down to bare his teeth in the man’s face as he dipped in and out of consciousness. A flailing arm came in contact with The Blade’s axe, weak fingers attempting to grasp at the handle. The boy snarled, leg coming up to stamp down on his wrist.

It did not take long, after, for the man to go limp beneath a bone mask’s silent gaze. The crowd quieted, some turning to look away, as a guard slowly made his way towards the two. Charlie, flushed in elation, met Phil’s eyes. “Isn’t he just brilliant? Could have dragged it out a bit more, but eh.” He jerked his head in the boy’s direction where he had not moved, “This part’s my least favorite though. He always does this with the clean kills, it’s fucking sick.”

Refocusing his attention to the pit, Phil understood what Charlie meant. The boy had taken a small knife from his belt and was cutting a line across the corpse’s throat. He watched, as though fascinated by his own work, as blood began to emerge. Small fingers reached forward to peel at the skin. Hands coated in blood, the boy backed away and allowed his opponent to be carried off. He reached up to his own neck and drew a line with the still warm blood across his throat.

“Why did he do that?” Phil wondered; it was an odd action.

Charlie shrugged, “kid’s a monster. Has some weird thing about blood. Bastard would bathe in it if he could. The guards say he doesn’t have any blood of his own, that when they take him back and check his wounds, the doctor stitches up dry flaps of skin. Dunno if I believe it, but I’ve never seen him bleed. Though I suppose it’s hard to tell when he’s always covered in the stuff.”

❖

The following two battles were not much better. The boy always began defensively before eventually attacking all at once. They were longer than the first, the new opponents putting up more of a fight. Both, however, ended in death and marks drawn in red contrasting with pink hair.

A distant part of Phil that was not focused on how horrible the whole thing was to begin with considered his fighting style. He wondered how the boy would be with a sword, as he really was quite talented with his axe. His moves were calculated and in a proper form whilst still remaining instinctual and unpredictable. And yet the boy seemed to still favor more barbaric means: dirty right hooks, choking, biting, and bludgeoning.

“That’s three,” Charlie remarked, and it took Phil a moment to recall the previous record of three rounds won. “Two more and they’ll send him off.” His words are laced with humor that causes Phil to look at him with a raised brow.

“Oh, you haven’t figured it out yet? There’s no way in hell they’d let him go after all this. He’s going to die no matter what. It’s just a lie they like to tell the fighters to give them hope so they go out with a bang. They fight better when there’s something they’re fighting for. After all, fighting for one’s life only lasts so long when life isn’t worth living. He’s been here for a good two or three years, it’s only a matter of time before he tries to off himself anyway. They always do.”

Phil’s brows furrowed, “so what happens if he wins the next two?”

Charlie shrugged, “probably put him back in his cage and kill him when he’s defenseless. They’ll tell the people he’s been set free, they like a good happily ever after just as much as they like all this fighting shit. Makes it alright if the kid goes free, you know?”

Phil didn’t know, people like this disgusted him. He remained silent after that whilst his mind ran circles around his options. He did not have to do anything, he could leave. Yet at the same time, he did not think he could live with himself to just leave a kid here to die. Perhaps the boy really was a monster, he certainly fought like one. But maybe it was because he had never been given a chance to be anything else, and Phil had always believed in giving chances.

❖

He was antsy whilst waiting for the fourth round, itching to just grab the kid and make a break for it. Maybe stab some of the villagers, the thought was concerningly satisfying. Phil had to remind himself that it simply was not realistic. The room was cramped, and they were underground, his wings would be more of a hindrance than anything.

Additionally, Phil might be good, but taking out this many people without tools was simply not possible. Still, he cursed himself for leaving his sword in his hotel room. His best bet, he had concluded, was to wait until the audience filtered out after the fight and the guards took the boy into the back room.

This, of course, was dependent on the boy winning in the first place.

Phil hoped that it did not come to that. If the boy was going to be killed in the arena and Phil interfered, they would likely both die. If the boy was killed and Phil had simply watched, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Charlie had laughed when he saw his face, “You’re invested, huh?”

Phil had been spared from answering as the next round began.

❖

A few hits had landed on the boy, although he showed no signs of being affected. He managed to scrape a win after a brutal fight against two girls. They had worked together well, movements blending together with their attacks, but they had a glaringly obvious lack of hand-to-hand combat. Once the boy had ducked beneath their gleaming swords and disarmed them, they were all too easy for The Blade to kill.

These kills were the messiest, detached limbs spread across the arena’s floor. Phil wondered if he would be able to kill the boy if he did truly end up being beyond help. Monsters can be made, and they do not always possess enough light to be saved.

❖

The crowd vibrated as the arena was set up for the final match. Voices hoarse from cheering, they speculated who they opponent would be and if The Blade would really manage to win his supposed freedom. 

“I know one of the guards,” Charlie told Phil, leaning over into his space. “Heard they brought in a renowned fighter with a ridiculous kill count. The guy running the ring must have paid a fuck ton of money to make it happen, but it’s not like he won’t make it back with interest with how popular this show is going.”

Almost on que, the crackling of a mic silenced the masses. Phil did not quite catch the words spoken, eyes darting back to the boy in the pit. He was favoring one leg, chest noticeably heaving, mask chipped, and hair tumbling wildly down his back in knots. Not to mention, of course, how absolutely soaked in blood he was.

The Blade had already been facing the other side of the pit, but he crouched down when the gate began to rise. Phil inhaled sharply when he recognized the man it revealed.

Nicholai was a man Phil had met only once, and, even then, the interaction had not gone beyond false pleasantries. Back when he was working closely with the king’s tacticians in his preparation to brave The End, the king – a rather greedy man – had hired the mercenary. Phil had not been privy to the man’s contract, but he had no doubt it was carried out well. The man was undeniably the best at his craft.

A sinking feeling formed in Phil’s stomach. There simply was no way that The Blade could come out on top. Nicholai was a tall man, taller than anyone Phil had ever seen, but was more lean than bulky. He cut down anyone in his path, excellent fighters Phil knew had fallen to him. And, as Nicholai drew his own axe, Phil closed his eyes and mourned for a child’s life.

The Blade himself seemed to have no desire to engage, taking slow steps back as Nicholai advanced like a predator. The crowd chanted, split between who they wanted to come out victorious, a frenzied look in their eyes. The boy dodged narrowly when Nicholai swung at him, rolling to the side. The man was playing with him.

Their circled each other, Nicholai taunting him more for the crowd’s sake, as no reaction was forthcoming from the boy. He lunched towards the bigger man, and Nicholai had to take a step back to make room for his axe to come down. The sharp edge caught the boy’s face as he ducked a bit too slowly. Phil failed to muffle his noise of distress, but it luckily went unheard over the racket.

The boy showed no sign of pain to the wound, taking advantage of the man’s lowered axe to climb onto his broad shoulders. Dropping the axe, Nicholai reached up and grasped The Blade’s ankle, scrambling for purchase to drag him off and snapping fragile bone in the process. The boy’s fist in the mercenary’s hair and legs locked around his neck sturdied him, and the Blade used his remaining hand to reach forward cover Nicholai’s face. The man let out a howl of agony, and Phil leaned forward to try to see what had happened.

Nicholai jerked back, head thumping against the wall. From this angle, Phil watched as the boy ripped his hand away, leaving behind a bloody socket where the man’s eye used to be. Using the man’s height to his advantage, the boy jumped upwards, fingers snagging on the leg of an audience member who had gotten closer for a better vantage point.

Someone screamed, and chaos ensued as the boy hefted himself out of the pit onto the platform above. Someone tried to grab him, getting a bite to the hand as a result. Phil watched as pink hair disappeared amidst the disorder, and he took off towards the door. He could hear shouted orders and the footsteps of guards not far behind him.

❖

The boy had not made it far, a pronounced limp holding him back. Phil caught up easily but kept a distance lest he be taken as a threat and attacked.

“I can help you,” he said breathlessly, hands in the air in an attempt to convey he meant no harm. “The guards are not far behind me; I can take you somewhere safe.”

The boy turned his head to look back towards the door he had fled through, hesitating only a moment before looking back to Phil with a sharp nod of acknowledgment. Phil had no doubt that the child did not trust him and was simply weighing his options. He had used up all his adrenaline escaping and would not make it far on his own.

“Come with me, I have a hotel room with my gear. I need to grab it before we go.”

❖

The door locking behind them was loud in the silence between them. Phil had been too focused on making sure the boy was following him and keeping an eye out for witnesses to say much more, and the boy did not seem any more inclined to speak.

Phil took a moment to wonder what the hell he was doing. He was not particularly good at hand to hand himself, specializing in swords and bows, and the boy he had just locked himself in a room with had no problem using his hands. Shaking away these thoughts, he looked back at the other person in the room.

“I’m Phil,” he offered. “I have a first aid kit to patch you up, but we should get a move on soon. I’m not from here, just stopping for the night, but I’ve been to the next town over and they’re much more… hospitable.” He cracked a wry grin, watching for any form of comprehension from the boy.

“…Techno,” the boy answered after a long moment. “They call me Techno.”

Phil hid his relief that the boy could speak, one less thing to worry about. He pushed the question of who the “they” were and went to rummage through his bad for medicine. He never had been particularly good at organization.

“Okay, mate. Let’s go into the bathroom to wipe you off some so I can see what I’m working with.” The blood coating Techno had dried in some places and flaked off when he moved. Silently, the boy obeyed, scrubbing any visible skin hastily with the wet washcloth Phil provided.

“Woah, slow down. Be careful with your wounds, we don’t want to make them any worse.”

Techno paused to peer at him through his mask before continuing at a slightly gentler pace. When he got to his face, he paused for only a moment before reaching back and releasing the clasps that secured his mask. Phil wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the features of a young boy were not quite it. A cute nose, rosy if slightly chapped lips set in a stern line, and furrowed brows. The only abnormal things were his eyes that were pigmented with a deep red color.

His thought process was immediately diverted when his gaze landed on the slash through said eerie eyes. Slicing through his right eyebrow and barely missing his eye, the cut ended slightly beneath the curve of his jaw. Phil inhaled sharply; there was no blood. Dumbfounded, he reached forward and gently ran his fingers parallel to the wound, watching as the skin parted revealing the flesh beneath, but no blood emerged.

Techno had not shown any reaction to Phil’s sudden invasion of his personal space, but Phil drew back immediately as soon as he realized what he was doing.

“Oh, sorry, it’s just…” he paused, scrambling at his thoughts. “Do you bleed?”

“No,” was the succinct response.

Mind working through this development, he worked on autopilot, hands expertly stitching up deep wounds that lacked the familiar red. “How?” he eventually managed.

Techno seemed to consider this question for a moment, “my heart beats in their name, my blood is my offering.”

“Who exactly are ‘they’?” Phil asked, growing more confused and increasingly concerned.

“Blood for the Blood God,” Techno supplied as though that was all he needed to know. And, perhaps, Phil realized, it was.


	3. to be human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Guide to Teaching a Killer Love by Philza Minecraft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta readers are for the weak.

Living with Techno had its pros and cons, in Phil’s eyes. On one hand, the kid lacked any sense of acceptable human behavior, but there was hardly time to feel lonely when he was suddenly responsible for another life.

After fleeing the village with his new companion in tow, Phil undertook the journey back home. It was a modest house, secluded in the woods for when Phil wanted his peace. He did not spend time there too often, as he got bored being in one place for too long. It was simple, comfortable, but without any personal touches.

Techno had followed Phil with a mix of mistrust and apathy. He showed no signs of being distressed by Phil’s ushering, but sometimes the boy stopped and stared into the dark forest when they traveled through the woods until Phil managed to gain his attention once more. Techno was something of a flight risk, in Phil’s mind, and he did not get much sleep until they reached their destination.

Phil cleared out a spare bedroom he had used for storage for the boy, revealing a bed much too large for a child’s small frame. They filled the closet with some simple outfits the next day after an awkward visit to the shops where Phil ended up making most of the decisions whilst Techno watched on in silence. Phil had failed to get many verbal responses from him since the first night.

Now, three days later, Phil was still getting used to working his life around another person. Techno was not particularly hard to manage, he did not throw fits or make noise. After the first day of reserved exploration, however, Phil was exposed to Techno’s undying curiosity – something that soon proved to be dangerous. 

Phil was not sure the boy slept, as he said goodnight to Techno from the doorway before bed and greeted him with a good morning when he checked in on him. Both times, Techno simply stared at him with unblinking eyes. It was unnerving, but Phil’s worry was balanced out by the surprising displays of childhood innocence.

It began with breakfast, Phil’s third attempt at pancakes were placed in front of Techno at the table. “Would you like syrup?” Phil asked, nodding at the bottle as he dosed his own food in it.

Techno always considered his words before he spoke, voice level and cadence consistent. “Yes,” he eventually decided, accepting the bottle when it was handed to him. He frowned at it for a moment before tilting it upside down as he had seen Phil do, only for a large stream of syrup to pour out and fill his plate.

Seemingly startled, Techno tilted the bottle upright immediately, discarding it on the table as he eyes remained fixed on his drowned pancakes. Phil smothered a laugh around a mouthful, swallowing before commenting, “a bit much for your first go, but I can respect the ambition.” 

Techno dipped his finger into the syrup, swirling it around as the sticky substance coated his skin. He raised it to his mouth to smell it, nose scrunching in contemplation. “You eat it,” Phil urged, internally amused. Techno scrutinized Phil briefly to gauge his trustworthiness before he promptly shoved his finger in his mouth.

A small noise of joy was emitted from around the finger, and Techno immediately went in for more. The following lesson about silverware went relatively well, despite them both ending up a sticky mess.

❖

After deeming Phil’s cooking acceptable, Techno took an interest in the process of it. He fiddled with the buttons on the microwave and stove, opening and closing cabinets, and rummaging through the fridge.

Phil had looked away for only a moment, having finally relaxed with his hovering, when he heard Techno take a sharp inhale of breath. The boy had managed to turn the stove on, his hand hovering over it with skin a painful red. 

“Woah, mate, let’s not do that,” he said as he rushed over to grab hold of Techno’s wrist, leading him over to the sink to pour cold water on the newly formed burn. “Why did you touch that? It’s fire, Techno.”

Flexing his hand despite the angry red of its flesh, Techno responded, “to see what it would do.”

“Don’t do things that will hurt you,” Phil advised, rather out of his depth. 

“Hurt?” Techno questioned.

“If it causes you pain,” Phil elaborated.

“Pain is a weakness.”

“Who told you that?” It was when Techno said things like these that Phil’s heart ached for a child robbed of his youth – a victim of circumstance in a cruel world.

Removing his hand from under the water, Techno stared at where his skin slowly returned to its natural shade, all evidence of his actions wiped away. Phil had witnessed this accelerated healing with the wound on his face, how the skin had sealed itself up leaving only a scar. It concerned Phil with its abnormality, but he was thankful for it all the same.

“They tell me,” Techno said, tapping his right temple with a finger.

Phil did not quite grasp his meaning, “who?”

“The voices,” he explained.

Phil could hardly say he had any sort of qualifications for psychology, but he knew hearing voices wasn’t exactly a shining example of mental health. Crouching down to Techno’s level, he placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Who are the voices?”

“The Blood God.” At Phil’s confused look, he elaborated, “they are the Blood God as I am the Blood God. He is the whole and us the parts. They guide me, but I am the vassal.”

At a loss, Phil wondered, “and what do these voices say?”

A shadow of a smile appeared on Techno’s lips, barely there unless you were used to reading countenances of others as Phil was. “They say they like you,” he confided. “But, mainly, they demand blood.”

❖

Techno was not human; it was something Phil was forced to come to terms with quickly. Elongated ears with pointed tips, the pink hair that he had learned was natural, the red of his eyes, and razor-sharp teeth that Phil had personally seen tear through flesh with ease all made it quite obvious, but it was the less obvious things that left Phil feeling conflicted.

Phil had eventually managed to get Techno to report how much he was sleeping. Four hours a night was not normal for a human, let alone one as young as Techno was. Medicine to help him sleep only made him sick, and Techno had glared at Phil for an hour after throwing up before deciding to forgive him in the face of Phil’s frantic apologies.

Days went by, and, as the insufficient amount of sleep never made an impact on Techno’s behavior, Phil was forced to conclude that Techno simply did not need as much sleep as he himself did. Phil told Techno he did not have to stay in his room all night as long as he stayed in the house and was careful. After that, Phil would sometimes wake from nightmares of his past to hear the muffled pitter pattering of feet.

Most of the time, he would fall back asleep with the warmth of knowing he was not alone, but after some of the worse ones, he would get out of bed and make his was to the kitchen to make himself some tea. Techno always joined him after a few minutes, climbing up in the seat across from him.

The first time, Phil had offered him a sip of his tea. Techno had sniffed it sniffed it suspiciously with a visage so serious it was almost comical before taking a sip. After a pause during which he placed the mug back on the table, Phil implored, “would you like your own?”

“Yes,” came the response accompanied by a very decisive nod.

After that, Phil never failed to make two cups of tea and place one in the spot Techno had claimed for his own in wait of him to join Phil. Sometimes they sat in silence, Techno’s socked feet swinging back and forth beneath the table, posture relaxed. Other times, Phil would tell Techno stories, both real and fake, but always with happy endings.

Techno seemed to particularly enjoy the ones where the protagonist had an animal companion, and scrunched his nose up in distaste at any romance Phil slipped in. The boy had looked at him incredulously when he had used to concept of a true love’s kiss.

It was this detail that resulted in Phil going out one day and returning with a small puppy.

The puppy vibrated with excitement, tail thumping against Phil’s arm as he placed him on the floor as Techno watched on from the other side of the room. Phil laughed as he was rewarded with little puppy kisses, but eventually managed to redirect the dog towards Techno.

“Got him for you, mate. What do you think?”

He was ignored, Techno being much too focused on the dog that had begun to make its way towards him with shy steps but tail still wagging furiously. For a moment Phil worried he had made a bad call, as the boy simply watched on blankly as the ball of fluff licked his foot, but all concerns were wiped away when a brilliant smile pulled at Techno’s lips.

“Oh,” he murmured almost to himself, lowering himself to the ground only to receive a lapful of puppy. Techno’s hands hovered in the air as though confused with how to proceed. 

“You can pet him,” Phil urged.

One hand came down to touch the soft fur, the puppy immediately turning its head to smother his fingers with licks. The boy stared down at the interaction dumbfounded, and Phil could no longer hold back a laugh.

“He likes you,” Phil said as he moved to join the two. “Here, I’ll show you.” Sitting to Techno’s left, Phil reached out to pet along the dog’s back. Another hand soon joined him. “A bit softer,” he murmured, and Techno gently continued to stroke his new friend.

“You should name him,” Phil added, leaning back to watch was boy and dog bonded.

“Floof,” Techno declared. The little dog wiggled in his grasp, putting paws against Techno’s chest to better lick his cheek.

‘Floof,’ Phil mouthed, amused. “That’s perfect.”

Neither the newly dubbed Floof nor Techno spared him a glance when he quietly took a picture of the two.

The next morning when Techno joined Phil for breakfast, puppy trailing along at his feet, he made no mention of the sudden appearance of a framed photo on the wall of the living room. 

It stood out against the otherwise blank walls, but, as his heart warmed, Phil knew it would not be alone for long.


	4. of which the prophets wrote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What labels me, negates me." - Soren Kierkegaard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subscribe to Technoblade.
> 
> Also, I just want to thank those of you who have commented. It really does mean a lot.

It was all too easy to forget that the boy who was fascinated by the bubbles in the sink when he helped wash dishes and slipped the dog pieces of meat during meals with eyes wide in faux innocence whenever Phil gave him a look was the same boy who had torn people apart in a filthy pit only a month ago.

For all Phil was glad Techno didn’t seem irrevocably traumatized, it was somewhat worrying that he showed no signs of someone who had been forced to kill.

Getting Techno to talk about his past was a frustrating affair. He never seemed distressed in any way, but he only gave vague answers for Phil to puzzle over for the rest of the day. However, slowly but surely Phil gained a clearer picture.

A reoccurring phrase was “Blood for the Blood God.” Any probing on that topic led to a confusing mix of ‘they’ that Techno apparently identified with somewhat that referred to a singular deity: The Blood God. In addition to this, Phil recalled Techno once saying he was the vassal.

Phil could put the pieces together, but he did not like the image it created. The main question at that point was whether or not this all was the false manifestation of a fractured mind or if his words held any truth. Phil was doubtful at first, but could he really rule it out when the kid had no blood and healed so quickly? 

Between sessions of trying to pry information out of Techno, Phil found himself frequenting the nearby village’s library to comb through books on gods. Techno himself tagged along and entertained himself by browsing the shelves before settling down with a book and Floof curled beside him.

Gods of war and destruction had detailed accounts, a thirst to bring suffering to the world, to watch humanity bleed. Phil was just glad that whatever god spoke to Techno seemed less inclined towards killing everything in its path.

Whilst research yielded little result, Phil learned more about Techno’s actual past. He spoke of other children in a cramped building. An orphanage, Phil assumed, but Techno did not recognize the word. He seemed to hold no particularly positive or negative emotions towards it but refused to comment on why he had left it. Whether it was of his own volition or not remained a mystery.

Phil was unsurprised to hear about an extensive time spent amongst the wildlife. Techno had already proven himself to be much better at navigating the terrain than working the faucet in the bathtub.

“They did not like me much,” he confessed one day. 

“What do you mean?”

“They wanted me dead.” A dark look overtook his features briefly. “But there were kind ones, the girl did not look upon me in fear.”

It broke Phil’s heart a little to think of Techno learning so early what it was like to be shunned.

It was with this darker turn of the conversation that brought them to Techno’s time in the underground fighting club. He described his small, bare cell surrounded by the scent of the rotting flesh of the zombies they kept in neighboring cells.

“I was there to fight, and so I did,” he spoke plainly, as though it was the most logical thing.

“You escaped, that night,” Phil implored. “Why not before then? You had been there a long time.”

“I had no reason to before. I coated myself in blood each night to quiet the voices, I had no other purpose. But they were to kill me, then. The guards often spoke to each other as they escorted me to the arena as though I could not understand. I know death, I have seen and caused it. Death is failing. I will never die.”

The final sentence was said with such vehemence that it shocked Phil. It was the longest Techno had ever spoken and a lot to unpack. The boy had been a willing prisoner, his sole purpose was to cause death. “You ‘had’ no other purpose, you said. Do you now?” He almost feared the answer.

The silence between them dragged on for a long moment before, in a soft voice, Techno spoke as though committing blasphemy, “perhaps.”

❖

The Blood God, Phil learned, was a concept one of the few still existent cults still worshipped. There was a closely connected series of Orders that came together once a year to sacrifice one of their members to their god. Supposedly, it was an honor to die at these gatherings, but it sickened Phil to see the book documented some cases of the chosen one to be children.

The book in question had finally been unearthed by Phil after weeks of searching; its faded title and weakened bindings forced Phil to be gentle as he turned its pages. “The Honor in Blood,” the title had read, and Phil had almost skipped past it when he assumed it was about royal bloodlines.

Instead of detailing the history of incest, Phil was greeted with what he had been seeking. It was less of a documentation of the cult and more of a guide to those who wished to join in the practices. The book explained “Blood for the Blood God,” to be both their creed and their ceremonial mantra. Phil could not help but read the phrase in Techno’s familiar monotone, and he shivered at the connection.

Phil read the whole thing that night, having checked it out from the library with slightly shaking hands. If Techno noticed anything wrong on the walk back to their house, he did not say anything, instead throwing small twigs for Floof to chase after.

He read one passage over and over again, heart sinking more each time. The author wrote of a vassal, as Techno had claimed he was, that held the essence of the Blood God and was tasked with fulfilling his gospel. And, from what Phil gathered, said gospel consisted mainly of bleeding people dry. Allegedly there was only one vassal at a time, a new one only chosen when the previous individual was killed. Death could only be achieved through a ceremonial sacrificing ritual or complete destruction of the body.

Despite wanting nothing more than to forget all he had read, Phil decided he would force himself to confront Techno the following morning. 

Phil got very little sleep that night.

❖

“Techno, can we talk for a minute?” Phil began, fingers drumming on the table before him.

The boy in question gently moved Floof off his lap from where he was seated on the floor to better pet the dog. Phil spared a passing thought of how happy it made him that the two had been inseparable since their first meeting.

Once Techno settled in the chair across from his, Phil pulled out the book and slid it across the table towards him. The page on vassals had been book marked, and Techno opened the book to it. Hardly waiting for the boy to read anything, Phil started again. “I found this in the library yesterday. I think…” He swallowed, mouth dry. “Is this your Blood God?”

He waited as patiently as he could for Techno to finish skimming the page. Eventually, he closed the book and sat back in his chair, gaze raising to meet Phil’s own. “Yes. Although,” he added almost as an afterthought, “I do not know much about this Order.”

“It says your purpose is to carry out the word of the Blood God,” the title felt odd on his tongue. 

“That is true,” Techno agreed.

When nothing more was offered, Phil prompted, “What exactly does that entail?”

He watched as Techno’s brows furrowed in contemplation. “It’s… complicated.”

“Could you tell me what you can? I just want to understand, mate.”

Techno seemed conflicted, but eventually relented. “The voices raised me. They taught me to speak, to read. To survive. They do not communicate as we do, they say many things at once in one voice.” He seemed frustrated at his inability to communicate what he wanted but continued when Phil made no move to question him.

“They are the messengers. Previous vassals whose deaths allowed them to merge somewhat with the Blood God and understand his desires. They communicate these to me, and I do their bidding.”

“Is that why you fought in the pit?” 

“Yes. Bloodshed through combat is honorable blood. You are a fighter, or you are prey. I fight those who take a stand and hunt down those who run. The Blood God has no need for the blood of the helpless. Sometimes their blood is selfish and other times it is innocent. But all blood, in the end, is claimed by the Blood God.”

❖

Things resumed as normal for the following few days: Techno spent time with Floof, adventured through parts of the woods that Phil could keep an eye on him in, and devoured books at a rapid pace. Despite having found what he needed, visits to the library remained a consistent part of their lives.

But Phil should have known that when you adopt a Blood God’s vassal, peace could not last forever. He woke one morning to Floof’s small yips. Floof generally was a rather quiet dog, and Techno took him outside for walks whenever he barked. Trying to ignore it as he assumed Techno would intervene soon, Phil rolled over and closed his eyes once more.

As the noise continued, Phil dragged himself out of bed to investigate. He followed the sound to Techno’s room. The door had been closed, and, when Phil opened it, Techno was not inside. Floof rushed past his feet in search of his owner, and Phil too began to check the rooms.

“Techno?” he called, disconcerted by the boy’s absence. After feeling confident Techno was not in the house, Phil rushed outside to search the woods. Had the boy left? How long had he been gone? It was early morning; the zombies and other creatures would have only just despawned.

His panic increased as Techno remained unfound, his calls going unanswered. Blinded by his adrenaline, Phil almost missed the small figure crouched by the trunk of a large tree.

Phil paused, catching his breath, and stared for just a moment just to be sure. “Oh, Techno! I was so worried. What are you doing out here?” His words were rushed as he made his way over.

The boy had made no move to suggest he had heard Phil, remaining where he was, hunched over with long hair covering his face.

“Tech-“

In front of Techno was the mutilated remains of a small fox. There was blood all down Techno’s front, staining his hands where they were clasped in the grasp.

“I killed it,” Techno spoke blankly. “I killed it.”

Phil steeled himself and crouched down next to him, placing a hand upon his shoulder. “It’s okay, Techno.”

Words began to tumble from Techno’s bloodied lips. “I had to. I just- I had to. Floof was there, and he’s just so warm with blood. I could have snapped his neck so easily, he’s so trusting. I didn’t want to though, it hurt.” One bloodied hand came up to gasp the cloth of his shirt over his heart. “It hurt, so I ran. And there was this fox, it ran away from me. So I hunted it down, I ripped it apart.” At this, his head jerked up to look at Phil, eyes wild. “I tore it apart with my hands, I bit into its neck and snapped its spine. I dug into it, and- “He unclenched his hand, revealing a small heart to Phil. “I took its heart.”

Phil held Techno’s gaze, responding in a gentle voice, “It’s going to be alright, mate. Did you want to kill the fox?”

“I don’t know,” Techno confessed desperately. “I never cared before; I like the blood. But I couldn’t hurt Floof, I couldn’t hurt you. But the voices were so loud, the urge so strong. I craved it, I had to.” Softer, as though he did not wish for Phil to hear it, he added, “And I liked it.”

There had been no guide to this in any of the parenting books Phil had subtly been looking through as of late. Doing what felt right, Phil pulled Techno into his side, wrapping his arms around the bloodied boy.

“Is this all I am?” Techno asked, face tucked against Phil’s chest. “I am this, I am. This is all I’ve ever been. I just want to be more, though. Why can’t I be more?”

Pressing a kiss against soft locks, Phil’s heart clenched. “You are more. You’re right, you are this.” Techno made a wounded sound deep withing his throat. “But you’re more too. You can’t deny what you are, the vassal to the Blood God. But you’re also a person. We can work this out, mate, trust me.”

“I do,” came the sleepy response. The boy was beginning to crash after all the excitement. Phil doubted he had gotten any sleep yet.

Once Phil was certain the boy was out, he stood with Techno’s limp body cradled in his arms to walk back to the house. 

“You’re so much more, my son.”


	5. to gain what was lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, Wilbur thought, he deserved a second chance at having a family after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might make another work for little, fluffy oneshots of family bonding that don't make it here.

Wilbur knew what love felt like; he remembered warm hugs and bedtime stories. Wilbur also knew what it felt like to stand by helplessly as a world fell apart; shouting voices behind cracked doors echoed in his mind, and faded scars remained from cutting his feet on glass shattered on the floor. 

More than anything, though, Wilbur knew what it felt like to be alone with nothing at all.

A few days before Wilbur’s birthday, a house crackled merrily in the crisp September air. A nearly ten-year-old boy stood outside, tears streaming down his face as he watched the flames dance.

Three months later, the charred remains of a house, two empty graves, and a missing child were all that was left of a family. The community forgot about them, their own lives taking precedence in the minds.

❖

Wilbur had always been an observant child. He liked to talk; he was a performer at heart. But sometimes he liked to fade into the background and listen. It was with this that Wilbur first met a boy and his dog. The librarian had taken pity on the homeless child and would often turn a blind eye to his presence when she locked up for the night.

The ground was coated with a thin layer of snow, and Wilbur did not have warm enough clothes to brave it, despite wanted to see if he could steal something small to eat. To distract himself from his empty stomach, Wilbur wandered through the labyrinth of shelves only to stumble upon another person sitting upon the floor.

Biting his lip, Wilbur wondered if he should simply leave. The boy looked to only be a little older than him, and Wilbur hadn’t talked to someone properly in weeks. The final decision was made for him, however, when the little dog that had been using the boy’s thigh as a pillow perked up to look in his direction. The thumping of the dog’s tail broke the boy’s concentration from his book, and he too looked up to see Wilbur hovering a few feet away.

The dog stood and bounced over to sniff at Wilbur’s ratty jeans, tongue lolling. Wilbur froze, unsure, and looked to the boy for guidance. He received a blank stare, and, seeing no evidence that the other was displeased, slowly crouched down to pet the friendly creature.

“I’m Wilbur,” he offered, uncomfortable with the silence. He avoided eye contact, instead choosing to pay attention to the soft fur beneath cold fingertips.

“Techno. He’s Floof.”

Wilbur assumed he meant the dog for the second one, and he noted that it was a rather apt name for him. “He’s very cute.”

“Yes.” The monotone voice was not very inviting, but neither was it off-putting. Wilbur decided to try his luck.

“I’ve never had a dog, but there was one in my neighborhood. One of those really big ones. I always wanted to pet it, but I was afraid it would squish me, you know?”

Techno let out a noncommitted hum, but his eyes remained focused on Wilbur’s face.

“But I doubt Floof here could do any damage, he’s just so little and cute.” Said dog had settled between the two of them as they sat together, content to lay his head on his small paws.

“Floof is a vicious predator.” Wilbur was surprised to receive an actual response, and it took him a moment to gather himself. He was not quick enough, though, as the boy uncomfortably added, “it was a joke.”

Wilbur took note of Techno’s hunched shoulders and slightly clenched fists where he held his abandoned book. Making a split-second decision, he said with mock seriousness, “Oh, are you sure about that? Now that you say it, I think I can see a shadow of a mighty dog in him.”

The boy relaxed slowly, visage softening. Wilbur took the opportunity for what it was and chattered on, spurred on by low sounds of comprehension and brief comments.

❖

Wilbur did not know how much time had passed when a man rounded the bookshelves. He seemed startled, staring at the two, and Wilbur shifted uncomfortably. His gaze darted to Techno, but the other was simply staring back at the newcomer, a miniscule smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, hello.” The man’s voice was kind. Wilbur had heard many tones directed at him: pity when he wandered the street alone, indifference when he begged for food, and anger when he was caught stealing a loaf of bread. This warmth was new though, and his chest ached with how desperately he wanted that comforting feeling to cocoon him.

“Have you made a friend, Techno?”

The boy in question seemed to consider this question very seriously. “Perhaps. They’re quieter with him here.”

The latter sentence did not make much sense to Wilbur, but it seemed to hold significant weight for the man, who turned to Wilbur with a brilliant smile. “I’m Phil, it’s a pleasure to meeting you.”

“Wilbur,” he returned.

Phil seemed to falter for a moment, suddenly taking note of Wilbur’s ratty clothes and all too thin cheeks. “We were going to leave now; we can walk you back to your house.”

The boy recognized the words for what they were, Phil wanted to confirm his suspicion that he had no home to return to. He chewed at his lip, considering his options. He could say no and pretend he would return to his supposed house later. Or he could tell the truth. The problem with the second option, of course, was the potential for the man to simply not care and leave him regardless.

But Wilbur was so unbelievably tired. His stomach cramped with hunger and he was sick with loneliness. Nothing more could hurt him, he lied to himself, it was worth a try.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” he spoke as clearly as he could, bracing himself for the reaction.

“Yeah,” Phil said, running his fingers through disheveled hair. “I had thought so.” They both looked to Techno whose head was tilted as he seemingly considered the situation.

“Floof likes him,” he eventually decided, eliciting a choked laugh from Phil.

“Now that’s a ringing endorsement if I’ve ever heard one.” Carefully, he added, “Techno and I live near here, there is space for one more.”

“I- I would like that,” Wilbur responded, eyes beginning to water as an overwhelming sense of relief crashed over him.

Maybe, he thought, he deserved a second chance at having a family after all.

❖

Living in an actual house with consistent warm meals seemed almost like a fever dream for the first week, everything was so perfect. A soft bed and clean shower were more than enough to distract him from the other happenings in the house. However, it was hard to miss how Phil and Techno sometimes had hushed conversations with very serious expressions before Techno would disappear into the woods for a few hours as Phil tried not to appear worried.

Techno always returned, slightly less tense than he had been when he left, with blood down his front. Wilbur had missed it the first few times, as Techno tried to avoid him as he made his way to the shower, but it was a relatively small house.

It scared Wilbur at first, made him jumpy around the other. But Techno was still the same person he met nose-deep in a book with a sleepy puppy on his lap. This gave Wilbur the courage to ask Phil on one of the days Techno was out.

“Come sit with me, mate,” Phil said, a tired tinge to his tone as he breathed out heavily. Nervous, Wilbur did so.

“Techno… he’s not exactly like you and me.”

Wilbur knew that much. “You mean with the ears and teeth?” Techno had let him touch his ears once, he thought they were really cool.

“Yeah, those. He’s a person,” Phil said with conviction, “but he’s not a human. There are some… quirks, I suppose you could say, that come along with that. I want you to feel like you belong here, Wilbur.” Said boy smiled brightly at the comment. “So you deserve to know, but just remember he’s still the same Techno who lets you braid his hair.”

Wilbur could not imagine thinking any less of the boy he had come to look up to, “of course.”

❖

Techno, Wilbur learned, went out in the woods when the voices became too loud. When his skin itched with the need to fulfill a purpose, he left to go hunt in the forest. Wilbur had asked why he didn’t bring his hunts home to cook.

“There isn’t enough left of them,” Phil had answered simply.

Wilbur knew he wasn’t getting the full story, but “Blood God’s vassal” and “they speak to him” were enough for him to wonder if he really needed more than that.

When Techno returned home, Wilbur watched his quickly retreating form as he tried to hide his blood coated arms. He waited for the elder to emerge from the shower before ambushing him with a hug. The boy startled in his arms; Wilbur could hear his elevated heartbeat from where his ear was pressed against the other’s chest.

“You don’t have to hide what you are from me.”

Slowly, the tension bled from Techno’s frame, and he brought unsure arms up to awkwardly return the hug. Wilbur smiled against the fabric of his shirt; this really was home.

❖

That night, a newly framed picture was hung on the living room wall.


	6. like a hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family is defined by love. But also by Tommy, he's in charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but, now that all our boys are here, plot can continue.

In Phil’s humble opinion, Tommy was quite similar to a hurricane. 

He had left Techno and Wilbur home together to do a quick grocery run. Whilst considering what sort of bread he should buy, something tugged at his pants. Looking down, he met the determined, blue eyes of a child. 

“Hey, there,” Phil said tentatively. “Are you lost?”

“No,” he declared. “I’m Tommy.”

“Um, okay. Hello, Tommy. I’m Phil. Are you alright?”

Unlike Techno, Tommy did not hesitate to speak. His words were firm and unfiltered. “I’m hungry and I don’t have a home,” the boy announced, staring at Phil expectantly as though his next step should be obvious.

And, as Phil was beginning to learn, it was.

❖

Wilbur had taken to their new house guest rather quickly, commenting only, “adopted another one, I see” when Phil had returned home with a child in tow. 

“I think he adopted me, actually,” Phil corrected, amused.

Tommy seemed proud of this, shaking off the brief shyness he had shown when Wilbur had first appeared. “Yes, I did. I make the rules.”

“Sure you do, child,” Wilbur responded, ruffling Tommy’s hair.

“I’m not a child!” And that had been that.

Techno was a different story. Tommy seemed to confuse him more than anything, which was not helped along by the fact that Tommy seemed to think Techno was just so cool and would follow him places until Wilbur or Phil managed to distract him. 

He had thrown a fit when he learned he would be sharing a room with Wilbur instead of the other boy, but Phil had found Tommy in Wilbur’s bed clinging to said boy more than once. It made him laugh; Tommy was soft a heart.

“I do not understand him,” Techno had confided when Wilbur had managed to rile Tommy up enough for him to chase after him.

“He’s nine, mate, no one understands him.”

Techno hummed in contemplation. “Why does he follow me? He talks a lot.”

Oh, Phil knew. The child only stopped talking for food and sleep, just rambling on to whoever was within earshot. “He likes you.”

“Oh.” Techno’s frown softened. “I think I like him too,” he confessed softly.

❖

It was Tommy who first called Phil ‘dad’ two months after he had begun to live with them. He did not seem to thoroughly grasp the weight of it even as Phil began to tear up. Instead, he scrunched up his nose in distaste when he noticed. “What are you doing? Men don’t cry. I’d know, I’m a big man.”

“Right, of course,” Phil laughed, wiping his eyes so he could pull Tommy into a hug. The boy wriggled for a moment before settling into it, resting his head contentedly in the crook of Phil’s neck.

Tommy had crashed early that night, having tired himself out pretending to be a strong hunter and chasing an indulgent Floof around the yard. Phil had just returned from carrying the boy to his room and tucking him in when Wilbur called out to him from the living room.

Entering, he saw Techno and Wilbur sitting together on the couch. Wilbur’s hands were clasped in front of him, and he fidgeted slightly when he looked up at Phil. Techno, conversely, simply had a slight crease in his brow as he stared blankly at the fireplace.

“Is everything alright?” Phil asked, worried.

Wilbur seemed to struggle with his words before bursting out, “Tommy called you dad.”

This startled Phil, and it took him a moment to understand what the implication of Wilbur’s words were. Deciding to let the boy work it all out in his head, Phil simply nodded. “He did.”

Taking this as the invitation it was, Wilbur continued, “I asked Techno if you were our dad, but he said you weren’t. But then Tommy called you dad and you didn’t correct him.” His words were spoken like an accusation, but Phil could hear the underlying tone of hope in his voice.

Phil sat down in the chair across from them, running his fingers through his hair as he considered his next words. “However you view me is up to you, I’m your caretaker above all else. No matter what, I will care for you and make sure you’re okay. If you…” he hesitated, feeling a bit nervous suddenly. “If you view me as a… father, I would be honored.”

Wilbur slumped in relief, shoulder brushing against Techno which finally got a response from the other boy. “You’re not our father though,” he stated, his head tilted slightly as it was prone to do when he was confused.

“You’re right, I am not your father in blood. But there’s more to being a parent than that. A father is someone who takes care of you, who keeps you safe, who loves you.”

Techno seemed unsure how to process this. “Do you… love us?”

The question surprised Phil. “Yeah, I really do. I love all three of you kids.”

“Okay,” Techno returned, looking back to the floor.

Wilbur stood and rushed over to hug Phil tightly, silent tears soaking into his shirt. “Aw, mate. Don’t cry, it’s okay.”

“I’m just so happy, I love you too,” Wilbur’s voice cracked, and Phil only held him tighter. He let the boy cry himself dry in his arms until Wilbur fell asleep.

Techno, who had been still the whole time, broke the silence. “I don’t know what love feels like,” he began. Before Phil could interrupt, he added, “but there is a warmth here.” He placed a hand on his heart. “I warmth that you gave me. I think, if monsters could love, I would love you with that.”

“Techno, you’re not a monster,” he scolded even as his own heart warmed at the words. “We all love differently. Monsters are cold, Techno, and you’re far too bright to be considered one.”

The boy swallowed thickly; fingers clenched in the fabric of his pants. “Thanks… dad.”


	7. the watchword of liberty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In rebellion it has always the watchword of liberty and its ancient privileges as a rallying point. Techno understood what it meant to ruin something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone for the lovely comments. I didn't expect people to show this mush interest, honestly.

A prince sat at his father’s bedside and held his trembling hand. He wore his smile with practiced sweetness, the epitome of a caring son. His eyes, however, shown with glee.

The king tried to speak, but his voice failed him just as the rest of his body did. The prince simply squeezed his hand tighter, an impatient tapping of his foot.

“I don’t think he’ll last much longer, Your Highness,” the doctor fretted, nervous of the prince’s known temper.

“Leave us, then. Allow me the last moments with my father.”

Bowing, the doctor left, leaving the two alone.

He focused again on the weak king who was watching him accusingly in his forced muteness. “We both know what happened, father.” Poison: a coward’s way, maybe, but he had never been one to get his hands dirty. 

And, as the king breathed his last, the prince watched on with plans of the future forming in his mind.

❖

\- seventeen

Phil was not overly involved of the goings on in the kingdom he lived in. It was a far-reaching rule, and Phil’s home was near the very edge of its territory. Rarely did he venture into the main city, as it was a far distance to travel. But he knew, even still, of the unrest that had formed when the new king was crowned.

The old king had hardly been loved, but he had been relatively hands-off with his people. Phil knew him to be a greedy man from his interaction with him in his younger years.

Wilbur, who followed politics much more closely than the others, was the one to bring it up one night at dinner. “I heard the new king is going to raise tax,” he said. “The numbers they’re talking about are so unreasonable, he’s favoring the wealthy. There isn’t going to be a middle class after this.” There was disgust in his voice that Phil could relate to.

“Sounds like a bitch,” Tommy mumbled into his stew. Phil sighed, having given up on the boy’s cursing problem.

“He is,” Wilbur agreed, always the enabler. “I just don’t know what he’s thinking.”

“Money,” Techno chipped in. “A weak man’s poison.”

Tommy nodded along emphatically, assuming whatever Techno said was smart and probably true. All Phil’s boys had certainly grown into themselves, but Tommy would always be the little brother.

“I heard that there’s going to be a protest outside the castle,” Wilbur continued.

Phil knew exactly where this was going. “Are you going to go?”

He nodded, “we have to take a stand, this is tyranny.”

“I wanna go too! Show the bitch he can’t control us,” Tommy declared, getting riled up at the thought of something exciting.

Phil knew he couldn’t stop them; he had raised them to have their own opinions and fight for what they thought was right. He was proud, but that did not stop him from wishing they would stay where he could protect them.

Wilbur’s eyes were imploring, waiting for Phil’s response. “Alright,” he sighed. “But at least take Techno with you.”

“Yes!” Tommy cheered, viewing this as an adventure to be had. 

“We leave tomorrow morning then,” Wilbur announced, smiling brightly. “Techno?”

Said boy simply shrugged, “yeah, okay. I hate taxes.”

Phil laughed, “Mate, you don’t even pay taxes.”

“On principle,” he returned, flippantly.

❖

Wilbur was grateful Phil had been so adamant that they dressed warmly. Their little house in the woods didn’t get very hot even in the summer, so they were used to cooler weather. But the kingdom itself was very far north. They passed lakes that were eternally frozen and land that had never grown grass.

“This fucking sucks,” Tommy complained. His whining had been a consistent theme of the trip as he trudged through snow with a frown. “It’s in my socks.”

“Tommy, shut up,” Wilbur snapped, reaching his limit.

“No,” he shot back. “You can’t make him.”

“Tommy,” he warned. 

“You are a bitch, Wilbur, I can speak my mind. It’s a free world!”

Wilbur removed his glasses to rub at his eyes, a headache forming. “Sometimes I hate that kid,” he said under his breath.

Techno, who had been silent as was typical of him, walked over to Tommy. “Get on my back,” he ordered, gruffly. “You’re drivin’ us mad.”

Torn between being grateful and offended, Tommy climbed onto Techno’s back. “Onward, my pink steed,” he cried, tugging Techno’s braid.

“I will drop you.”

Backtracking, Tommy said, “I mean, thank you, big brother Techno.”

❖

The castle was huge. Tommy, who had never gone anywhere other than the village, was truly taken aback by it. “Techno, look,” he said quietly.

He received a grunt of acknowledgement. Techno’s ears twitched as they were prone to do when there were many sounds at once, his silver earrings glinting in the sun.

The city surrounding the castle was well-kept, small shops lining the paths that sold all sorts of things. Tommy had tried his best to take everything in from his vantage point on Techno’s back, but the masses were all consuming, and they got jostled. Wilbur had gotten lost twice, but Techno’s hair was easy to spot. Regardless, he had taken to holding onto Techno’s jacket as the eldest navigated his way through the crowd.

“We need to go to the courtyard,” Wilbur called to them, voice raised to be heard over surrounding conversations. “There’s a statue in the middle, I think, so just look for that.”

“Is it by chance a statue of a dragon?” Techno asked rhetorically.

Tommy soon saw exactly what Techno was talking about. It was absolutely massive, wings raised to shield people from the snow. Its head was carved to look down at people with a vicious snarl and sharp teeth. “Woah…”

“Kind of pretentious,” Techno decided. 

The other two ignored him in their awe. Wilbur recovered first, “I think we’re a little early, but that’s good. Techno, can you get us up more?”

There already were a lot of people, and Tommy wondered just how many more would arrive before the sun marked mid-day. He had never been in a situation like this, and an uncomfortable feeling was forming in his stomach. Tommy was glad Phil had made them take Techno.

“Get down, you leech,” Techno said once they reached the front. Tommy squawked at Techno dropped him, punching his arm once he collected himself. 

“Bitch,” he accused, and Techno only ruffled his hair fondly.

❖

Wilbur knew a lot of people would turn up, but he had not anticipated just how crammed together they would be. The courtyard they all gathered at was quite large, so he could only imagine how many people were there.

“What do we do?” Techno asked, looking around. Wilbur felt much safer with his older brother looking out for them.

“It’s a protest, we’re making a statement to show that we don’t support the king with this,” he explained.

“And that works?” Techno seemed doubtful, and it made Wilbur laugh.

“Hopefully,” he admitted. “There isn’t a guarantee, but most rulers know to keep their people relatively happy. No one wants to deal with an uprising.”

Techno considered this. “Or you could just stab him,” he countered plainly.

“Techno!” he admonished. “You can’t say that; there are guards right here.” He nervously shot a glance at the line of soldiers between the protesters and the castle, but they showed no reaction.

Shrugging dismissively, Techno seemed to lose interest, instead resting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder to keep him still when he tried to get a better look at the castle.

Wilbur too turned to stare up at the decorative balcony overlooking the courtyard. He had only heard bad things about the new king, and his actions were backing those claims up. Wilbur truly hoped that the man would make an appearance today.

❖

By the time the king emerged through the balcony doors, Wilbur’s throat had begun to hurt. There was something frustrating about calling for justice in the face of blank guards who did not even twitch. However, as more and more voices joined in and created an overwhelming display of unity, Wilbur’s heart soared, and he gained confidence.

This took a hit when he saw the king’s face. His face was average, but he was dressed in a luxurious gown worth more money than most people had ever even seen. It disgusted Wilbur who had always been someone who didn’t take anything for granted. 

At a raised hand, the crowed began to quiet. Wilbur had to elbow Tommy to get him to quiet down as he was oblivious as ever.

“My people,” he addressed, his voice self-satisfied. “I address you now as your ruler, as your new king.” Pale fingers gripped the balcony’s railing as he leaned over somewhat to better look down on the crowd.

“I have heard your complaints – your worries and thoughts. I have listened,” he declared loudly, eliciting hopeful murmurs throughout the courtyard.

“I hear you, and I simply do not care.”

Wilbur’s heart dropped to his stomach, and he stood frozen as the people around him roared their shock and disapproval.

“I am your king,” he shouted above the chaos. “You will do as I decree, or I will force you. You have two options, my citizens, and both shall lead to the same result in the end.”

He left abruptly, robes bellowing in his wake, leaving an enraged crowd in his wake. Wilbur felt helpless, and he reached out to Techno to stabilize himself.

Techno placed a comforting hand on the back of Wilbur’s neck where he had lain his head on his elder brother’s shoulder, and simply stared up where the king had disappeared, contemplating.


End file.
